


Prosthetics and Foundation

by welcomesquad



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, Dancer Sherlock, Dancing, Disguise, Disguised Sherlock, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, French Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Peter - Freeform, Pining, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Post Mary, Protective Mycroft, Series 3 rewrite, Sherlock Speaks French, Slow Burn, Swing Dancing, UST, also sorry about my french i've only taken three years so you know, i tried to keep it simple, listen its light angst though its mostly just fluff, that's not an oc that's just sherlock's disguise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcomesquad/pseuds/welcomesquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides the best way to reveal to John he's not actually dead is to ease him into the idea. He does this by doing what Sherlock Holmes does best, putting on a disguise. However, when John and he become close friends again while Sherlock is still in disguise things get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, I own none of the characters in this story nor is it affiliated in anyway with the official BBC Sherlock.
> 
> The later chapters are not as closely proof read so I'll be going through those again. This has not been Brit picked either. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic. I started writing this over two years ago and just wrote piece by little piece. Comments and kudos are much appreciated!

Sherlock knew he had no real reason to be nervous and yet, as he glided around the busy restaurant slowly working his way toward where John sat waiting for his date, he couldn’t help the squirming in his stomach. He was covered in prosthetics, makeup, topped off with a wig and yet some part of him still thought John would see through it all and realize it was him. It was ridiculous, for all John knew, he'd been dead three years.

Despite what Mycroft believed, Sherlock was not scared or avoiding the situation. He just wanted to get a good idea of what John’s life had become while he had been away dismantling Moriarty’s network. Better to know how to ease John into his return, he thought, than to crash in like a bull in a china shop.

Sherlock had been surprised to hear that John had moved out of 221B and had more or less settled down with a girlfriend. So dull, so pedestrian of him. Though, John had always been one to strive to be normal. Always searching after the white picket fence life but never being satisfied when he caught a glimpse of it. That was why John needed him. He needed the frenzied hunt for clues, the adrenaline powered chases through the streets, and the high of knowing that he’d helped someone. Which, was why Sherlock was positive John would come back to him, if not right away, then soon.

He glanced over to where John sat, shifting in his seat as if nervous. Sherlock frowned slightly as he filled up water glasses at a nearby table. Not many things could make a man such as John nervous. Then again, that horrible worm of hair that sat on his upper lip would be enough to make anyone self-conscious. It really would have to go.

In reality, it most likely had to do with the small box in his jacket pocket. Proposing! Sherlock scoffed inwardly, not if he could help it. He had always been accepting of John’s propensity to date. In the end, he knew that John would always be there for him when he had need. His dates never held any serious threat to their arrangement. Marriage on the other hand would shatter the give and take that sustained them. John was too good of a person to drop and leave everything if he’d made a formal commitment. He’d “settle down” no longer jumping up to answer Sherlock’s call. John was, in Sherlock’s opinion, making a particularly rash and stupid decision.

Depositing the pitcher of water on a nearby cart, Sherlock grabbed a menu and glided over to John’s table. He had grown up speaking mostly French around the house and had worked for years trying to wring the accent from his words. Right now though, he let a small bit of it slip into his speech pattern, softening the “h”s and adding a bit of a purr on the “r”s.

“Can I help you with anything today, sir?”

 

:::

 

John started slightly at the deep voice from behind him, “Um, yes I’m looking for a good champagne and I…” John looked up from from his menu and was met with eyes so striking, he had only seen their match once before.

Blues, greens, greys, and browns in a whirl, the dominate color indecipherable from the others. They were set in a handsome face with high, round cheekbones splashed with freckles. The man had pale creamy skin offset with a curling mess of red hair styled to look artfully tousled. John cleared his throat slightly, aware his sentence had drifted off rather suddenly. The server gave him a small smile as if urging him to go on.

“Sorry, I just,” He began glancing down at the table but then looking up almost immediately, unable to stop himself from meeting those eyes that threw him back into memory after painful memory of criminals and stunning deductions. He cleared his throat again, “I’m looking for a good champagne and I’m afraid that it’s really not my strong suite.”

The waiter smiled reassuringly, “Well these are all wonderful options. You could not possibly go wrong.” He leaned in closer to point at a particular one on the menu, making the hairs on John’s neck prickle in a not unpleasant way. “This one,” the man continued. “Is a particular favorite of mine. A nice balance between sweet and dry.”

“Wonderful, I’ll take that one then, please.”

“Of course, coming right up, sir.” He said straightening up. “If you need anything, my name is Peter and I’ll be your server for the rest of the evening. Shall I come back once you’re guest has come?”

“Yes, thank you.” John said with a small jolt when he mentioned his other guest. He’d completely forgotten about Mary. He was proposing to her tonight and for two minutes he’d completely forgotten. Something uneasy and suspiciously like doubt twisted in his stomach.

He watched as the server, Peter, walked away; tall and long-legged, drifting gracefully through the crowded room toward the kitchen. Damn, if it wasn’t always the tall ones. John shook his head slightly and reached into his suit pocket. He took out the small case that was the root of his disturbance and sighed tracing the already well known contours. It was fast, he knew. It was unusual, he knew. Was it right? That he didn’t know.

He loved Mary, he really did. She made him feel grounded. He knew what to expect from her and could see his entire life with her stretched before him. Every bit of it clear and clean. Children, a house, a dog, a lawn, all just waiting for him to reach out and take it. He’d continue working as a doctor and have to start cycling to work to exercise off the weight gained from domestic life. He would be content and yet, thinking about it made him squirm just a bit, feel confined in his own skin. He knew he’d be happy and yet... It was silly of him to want to find a relationship that could be like before, not that it ever was a relationship. Not like that. However much he wanted to, he couldn’t live in a war zone like he had. He couldn’t find it here in London without-

“Hello.” He heard Mary’s soft voice from behind him and quickly replaced the ring box in his pocket just as her hand trailed lightly over his shoulder.

She sat down, smiling at him playfully. “You said you had something to ask me?”

Shit.

John’s stomach felt heavy as lead, be it with nerves or dread or both he couldn’t tell. “Can I get you some water?” He tried with weakly.

“No.”

There was silence. “Wouldn’t you rather wait for the champagne?” He tried again.

“No, I’m fine thank you. Now, what did you want to ask me?” Damn, she was stubborn. John should have known he wasn’t going to get away with delaying it that easy. His hands shook slightly and he clasped them together to try and hid his nerves.

“Now,” He cleared his throat. “Mary.” He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. He still wasn’t sure. It had seemed so easy before.

He really did want that domesticity. That picture perfect life. That’s what he had always told himself. Kids asleep in their rooms and a dog on the rug. He wanted dinner dishes in the sink, a cup of tea in front of the fire with a skull on the mantle and dark hair and sharp eyes-

“Here is your champagne, sir,” said the waiter and there were those damn eyes again.

“Not now, if you don’t-” Mary started but quickly cut herself off as she caught sight of John who was completely unaware of her scrutiny.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread as he met the man’s eyes as he gracefully poured their drinks. “Thank you.” He said and was surprised how soft and almost shy it sounded. Mary stiffened and looked at him curiously from across the table.

“You’re very welcome, sir. May I take your orders or would you like a little more time with the menus?”

“I don’t think either one of us has spared them a glance.” Mary said with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, well, I would be careful.” He warned solemnly but with a playful gleam in his eye. He leaned down toward John, eyes flicking between the two of them but resting on him. “They can get quite jealous if they’re ignored too long and then one never knows what will happen.” He gave John a wink which made him feel as if he’d been punched in the chest and walked back toward the kitchen. He licked his lips, trying to hide the grin that was threatening to break through.

“Alright, now I definitely don’t believe it.” Mary said, dragging John’s attention back to her and away from an unexpectedly interesting and strangely familiar redhead.

“Hm?” He started, looking back to her before his mind caught up with her statement. His brow furrowed. “What?”

“That you and Sherlock weren’t in a relationship.”

John couldn’t help the amused smile at her statement. You’d think after two years those rumors would stop and yet they persisted. From Mary though, the accusation was ridiculous. “Mary, I’ve told you that we never were- You should know better than anyone I’m not gay.

She held up her hands as though warding off his words. “I never said you were gay, John. People can be attracted to both men and women, you know.”

“I know that but I’ve never-” He cut off as she raised her eyebrow. “What?” He asked again getting slightly miffed about the whole conversation.

“Was it like that?” She asked jerking her head toward the kitchen. “Did your friendship with Sherlock feel like that?”

John spluttered, “What the waiter? I don’t even- I don’t know him at all”

“Okay, but when you didn’t know Sherlock all that well, did it feel like that.”

“I- This is ridiculous, Mary. Sherlock and I were not in a relationship.”  

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll leave it but no more flirting. I’m sitting right here.” John opened his mouth to protest but she held up her hand. “I don’t even want to hear it, John Watson.” She finished with a smirk.


	2. Chapter 2

John wandered down the aisle of the supermarket, shopping basket hanging limply from his arm. It had been one of those days at the surgery where everything was either mind-numbingly dull or unsettling. John felt more like a walking zombie than he did a person. He sighed as he stared down at the collection of apples in front of him, looking particularly unappetizing under the bright fluorescent lights.

“They look rather unappealing don’t they?” A deep voice said to his left. He looked up in surprise and was greeted with a particularly shy smile on the face of his waiter from the night before.

“Oh, um, yeah.” He said. He was stuck on those goddamn eyes again.

“I don’t normally get my fruit here but I seem to have plowed through a whole lot this past week.” Peter said and began grabbing a few to put in his basket. He looked up up at John out of the corner of his eye. “How’d the proposal go?” John couldn’t hide his surprise at the fact that the man remembered him at all. Peter chuckled, “I never forget a face.” He paused and with a slight smile added, “Helps with tips.”

A small giggle escaped John’s lips. He cleared his throat and then nodded at the explanation, “Well, to be honest, I didn’t propose. I couldn’t actually go through with it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m rather glad I didn’t.” John said with a quick shrug. Then looked up confused, “How did you know I was proposing?”

The man’s eyes widened a bit but the easy grin was back on his face in a flash. “I might have seen you worrying over the box at the table.” John laughed.

“Ah, that makes sense, couldn’t believe you’d figured it out by the shape of it in my pocket or something.”

The man threw his head back and laughed, making John smile too. “I don’t think anyone’s that clever.”

“Oh I don’t know about that. I had a friend who could tell whether a man was a pilot by his ring finger.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Really? That’s amazing.”

“I thought so too. Other people were less generous in that regard when he spilled out all the nitty gritty details of their life to them and everyone within hearing distance.”

“Occupational hazard?” He said with a grin.

“Exactly.” John said meeting the man’s eyes. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. It was like being with-- well, it was comfortable and easy.

“Excuse me.” Pipped a small voice from behind the two of them. They both turned around to be faced with a small boy. “I need to get to the apples.”

They mumbled their apologies to the boy and moved out of his way. John’s eyes kept steadily returning to Peter’s face. He didn’t want to lose this feeling. The complete comfort in another person’s presence. He’d lost it once, he wouldn’t lose it again if he could help it.

“Do you want to get coffee?” He blurted and then flushed red.

 

:::

 

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose in surprise. John wanted to get coffee with him? No, he corrected himself, John wanted to get coffee with Peter. Still surprising but less so than if he’d actually wanted to go out with Sherlock. Sherlock would have had to have been an idiot to have missed John’s attraction to men occasionally, most often towards himself. Although he also knew that John never realized that attraction for what it was in the past. This was definitely a surprising step for him to take.

“I mean,” John spluttered in front of him, his cheeks an angry red. “Not as a date, obviously. I’m not- not that there’s anything wrong with- just friends.” He came to a stop and then chuckled rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry that probably could have been said a lot more eloquently.

Ah, still not recognizing the attraction for what it was.

Sherlock chuckled. “Yes, probably. It did get the point across though. I’d love to.”

John smiled sheepishly at him, “I just have to go get a few more things and then I’ll be ready.”

They walked around the store, chatting aimlessly about all sorts of things. Sherlock pretended to be impressed when he learned that John was a doctor and surprised to hear about his time in Afghanistan. Neither of them seemed to be able to take their eyes off each other. Sherlock at least had an excuse. He was trying to soak in John’s presence like a drug addict late to a fix. Sherlock could not fathom a reason for John to be so enthralled.

 

:::

 

By the time the two of them left the store John felt as though he’d known Peter for years instead of fifteen minutes. He felt like a piece of metal being drawn to a magnet. He grimaced in his poetic turn of phrase even in his own mind. Sher-- he would have never let him live it down.

John’s step was light as they walked side by side, their grocery bags nudging against each other. They rambled, passing by numerous coffee shops but enjoying each other’s company too much to care.

“So where are you from?” John asked and Peter quirked a small smile.

“You can’t tell?”

John laughed, “Well France is a rather large county.”

“I was born in Strasbourg. However, I moved to London when I was very young. I spoke French for the majority of my life because I was homeschooled and didn’t really begin speaking English consistently until I went off to boarding school when I was a teen.”

“What about other kids?”

Peter shrugged, “I was an incredibly shy child. I didn’t get out much and when I did I pretended I couldn’t understand the other children.” He let out a short chuckle. “Much to my mother’s vexation I might add.”

John smiled, “Well I’m glad you’re talking to me then. You should be happy you’re spared my near nonexistent French skills.”

Peter hummed lightly in agreement, looking up at a building across the street. John followed his gaze and found that he was looking at Speedy’s and, consequently, 221B. He felt the breath leave his lungs in a sharp exhale at the look of it, unchanged as the day he had left. He could almost believe that at any moment the detective himself would come tearing out of the flat in pursuit of a new case.

John had moved away quickly once he’d left. He had woken too many nights believing that he had just heard a strain of violin a moment before. Every creak of the old wood flat held the promise of Sherlock’s return and with every empty room and silent night the loss was new again.

He had moved away and hadn’t come back. He had called Mrs. Hudson once or twice recently, suffering through a particularly passive aggressive discussion until he’d apologized for not calling sooner. He had tried to explain to her. Every corner, wall, floor, chair, and room held some memory of Sherlock that made him want to shout at the world the injustice of it all.

“Are you alright?” John jumped at Peter’s question, snapped back into the living world.

“Yes, fine.”

Peter raised an eyebrow in response but carried on anyway. “How about stopping in here. It looks as if it’s about to rain soon. We can wait it out.” John hummed in agreement and they headed inside.

The girl who worked at the counter wasn’t the same one that used to, something John was particularly relieved about. He didn’t need to nor did he feel up to explaining the reason for his familiarity to someone he barely knew. They grabbed their orders and sat down at the table by the window.

 

:::

 

Sherlock was just as surprised as John to find them standing outside 221B. John’s reaction to it was clear. It was as open a wound as ever. Sherlock was also quite surprised to find John so deeply hurt by his absence. He had not expected John to be so affected. It would make his coming back that much more difficult.

Sherlock was unsure how to even begin to break it to John. Everything he thought of doing seemed far too sudden or too cryptic or too hurtful. It was, no matter what a lose-lose situation for Sherlock but that was unavoidable. He just wanted to cause John as little shock and pain as possible.

John would feel betrayed, hurt, and angry, that much was for sure. The fact that John still seemed affected by his loss meant that those emotions would be much stronger than Sherlock had originally anticipated.

He needed to slip himself back into John’s life slowly. Slowly enough that at the beginning John would hardly notice. Sherlock was good at flying under the radar. He’d be able to do it. He just had to figure out what “it” was.

“Peter?”

Sherlock looked up at John’s voice realizing he had been talking to him and he’d been clearly not paying attention. Bit not good.

 

:::

 

“I’m sorry, John. I had a late night closing up the restaurant.” Peter gestured down at his cup of coffee. “I’m afraid it hasn’t kicked in yet.”

John smiled. “It’s no problem at all. We all have those days.” John then proceeded to tell a story of a day at the clinic which included no less than three tantrums, one performed by a person far too old for those hysterics; a person who didn’t believe in medication and so refused everything John tried to give them yet was displeased when they received no help, and a man who believed he had rabies when in reality he had nothing but a head cold, which had the two of them laughing quite merrily before they were interrupted.

“John? Oh John, dear!”

John turned away from his discussion, surprise stiffening his spine, and was meet with the sight of Mrs. Hudson just before he was embraced in a tight hug. “Oh! Mrs. Hudson.”

“Look at you, John. You’re looking so much better than the last I saw you. I can’t believe you’re back around here. It’s been ages. You should have come and had tea! You know I can beat anything made in this old place.”

“Well, I was sort of-” He began but Mrs. Hudson quickly cut him off when she saw Peter in the seat across from him.

“Hello, dear. I’m Mrs. Hudson.” She said holding out her hand which Peter took with a shy smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Peter.”

“My, what eyes you have.” She turned to John, with a jauntily raised eyebrow. “Rather like Sherlock’s.” John flushed red in embarrassment but Mrs. Hudson plowed unaware. “No wonder you find him handsome. The two of them look rather similar.”

“Mrs. Hudson!” John spluttered, trying to put an end to the stream of insinuation that fell from her mouth. “How many times do I have to tell you, Sherlock was not my boyfriend.”

Peter shifted in his seat, the tips of his ears turning red and a small amused smile on his face.

“Whatever you say, John. I’m just glad you’ve found someone else. You were so lonely after his death.” John couldn’t help the flinch the shook his body at the word. “You were terrible at hiding it but you always soldiered on. Now look at you, smiling and on a date.” Mrs. Hudson simply beamed and him and John was at a loss for words. “I’ll leave you to it. Come round again, John, and we can have tea.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and bustled out of the cafe.

That woman, John thought, his mouth still open with a dozen denials on the tip of his tongue. John swore it would take God himself to convince her there had been nothing between him and Sherlock and even then he doubted she’d believe it.

He turned to Peter and was surprised to see he had collapsed into a fit of giggles. John couldn’t help the smile that quirked up on his face and before long he joined the man. The two of them laughing at what was probably the most ridiculous situation two people had been put in while trying to get to know each other.

“So, we’re dating now?” Peter said breathless with laughter.

“Oh, don’t mind her as you can see, she’s still harboring under the misconception me and my old flatmate were in a relationship despite the fact that I’ve made it clear to her ever since we first met we were no such thing. She’ll believe what she wants to.” John answered, smiling happily at the man across from him. He hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.

“And the two of you weren’t? In a relationship, I mean.”

“What? No. We weren’t, we were just mates despite what the rest of the world seemed to believe.”

Peter nodded at the table, taking a sip of his coffee. “And the fact that you’re with a women now?”

John just shrugged. “Who knows what goes on in that woman’s head. Sweetest thing you’ll ever meet but, well, you can’t kill an idea.”

“And you and Sherlock, you used to live around here.”

“Yeah, just next door actually. Practically on top of this place. I used to drag him down here whenever he was just starting to get into a funk. I’d sit him down and have him tell me all about the people around us.” John looked around at the bustling cafe and smiled sadly. “The secrets he’d unearth. It was amazing what he could do.”

John quickly looked back toward Peter forcing a smile on his face, “But that was a while ago.” He looked down at his watch. “I should probably head home. Mary will be wondering what I’ve got up to at this point.”

Peter stood up with a smile hitching his bag up over his shoulder. “Alright. We should, um, we should get together again. I’ve had fun.” He shifted on his feet a little awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh, here.” John quickly wrote down his number on a napkin and tucked it inside on of Peter’s bags. “Text me next time you’re free. I work most weekdays but weekends I’m fairly free.”

“Great.” Peter said. “Goodbye, John.” He reached out, squeezing top of John’s arm in farewell and then was out the door before John had finished grabbing his own grocery bags.

 

:::

 

“Where have you been?” Mary asked as soon as John walked into the house. She was sitting on the couch, TV turned on lightly in the background. She got up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before kneeling down and grabbing the bags as John toed off his shoes. The two of them heading into the kitchen.

“Out getting the shopping?”

“For three hours? Did you have another row with the chip-and-pin machine?”

“No, _dear_. I just went out for coffee with a friend is all, ran into each other in the store.” Mary’s brow furrowed, halfway to the refrigerator with a carton of milk.  

“Who do we know that lives around here? As far as I know, you’re always complaining about how we live away from the hustle and bustle.”

“Well it was actually someone we recently met.” John said as casually as possible, throwing the apples into the fruit basket. They still looked just as appealing. There was a heavy silence as they continued putting away the groceries. John could almost hear the gears in Mary’s head turning.

“And who’s that?”

John cleared his throat, glancing briefly at his girlfriend standing in the kitchen doorway before burying his nose back into the groceries. “The waiter at the restaurant the other night.” He mumbled.

The silence fell oppressive and thick following the statement. John stilled from packing away the groceries, head down. All of a sudden she began to chuckle. John turned toward her confused, eyebrow raised in question.

“The waiter?” She asked with amusement and John felt his face heat. “My god, John. What’s his name? Paul?”

“Peter.” John corrected.

“And how was Peter? Should I be jealous? I know you don’t mean anything by it but really, you could be giving him false hopes.”

John spluttered, “Mary! I have never- would never. I didn’t flirt with him last night!”

Mary held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! Fine you didn’t flirt.”

It wasn’t until the two of them were about to go to bed, John standing in front of the mirror shaving and Mary in bed, before the subject came up again.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Who?” John asked playing the fool.

“John!” She complained with a laugh.

“Alright,” He chuckled setting down his razor. “No, I’m going to work tomorrow.”

“Yeah but after work are you going to see him again?”

“Shouldn’t you be upset about all this?” John asked turning around exasperated.

Mary’s eyebrows rose, “Do I need to be?”

John laughed, “No.”

“Well then why would I waste the effort. It’s good, John. You need to get out more. You never go out with Mike and I know you have your reasons with Greg but still, it’s good. I’m happy for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sent from: Peter - To: John  8:54 PM

John?

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter 8:57 PM

peter! im glad you wrote

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  8:59 PM

Well I couldn’t in good conscience leave you hanging.

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:03PM

You must forgive me, texting is not something I do frequently, at least not in a conversational way. What do you normally talk about.

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter 7:03PM

 

ha! well im rather out of practice too um idk whatever comes up. what are you up to

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:15PM

I’m on break at the restaurant. Nothing very interesting here. One of the waitresses dropped her tray but that’s a near nightly occurrence from her so nothing new. 

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter  7:19PM

well i suppose not all of us have the gift of grace. im just about to watch golden eye

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:24PM

A Bond buff, I should have known.

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter  7:28PM

are you saying you dont like bond

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:36PM

Much like your punctuation in texts, I find the Bond films simplistic and inaccurate.

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter  7:43PM

Oi! I have thick fingers! It’s harder to get to the keys for me.

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:46PM

Ah-ha! So you do know where the shift key is! I was beginning to doubt 

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter  7:52PM

as i said not all of us have musicians hands

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter  7:53PM

do you play an instrument

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:58PM

Yes, violin and some piano. Though, I hated the second so was willfully inept at learning it.

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter  8:08PM

the violins great. i had a friend who played it beautifully. id love to hear you play sometime

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  7:58PM

That could be arranged if you’d like.

 

Sherlock looked down at his phone, smiling at John’s text lighting up his screen. Relief raced down his spine every time the name appeared after three years of its absence. Tucked away in his temporary flat across the street from 221B and talking to John, it almost felt as if no time had gone by. That he and John were sitting across from each other in front of the fire and John had that small contented smile on his face. He looked out across the street at their abysmally empty and desolate old home and grimaced. 

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  8:26 PM

Break’s about to end. I have to go. 

 

“Who are you texting?” 

John looked up from his phone and across the couch to Mary who had clearly decided to tune out the movie as well. 

“Just Peter.” 

“Mm,” she hummed turning back to the telly before glancing back over. “You should invite him over for dinner sometime. Give the three of us a chance to meet properly.” John nodded distractedly, something about the idea setting his nerves on edge. It felt like his friendship with Peter should be separate and unmuddled by Mary’s presence. He shook his head dismissing the notion. “How about this Sunday?” Mary suggested. “We can make a nice roast.” 

“Okay.”

 

Sent from: John - To: Peter 9:48 PM

Dinner? We’re making a roast this Sunday. You’re welcome to join us.

 

Sent from: Peter - To: John  12:02 PM

Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you then.

 

:::

 

When Sherlock rang the doorbell at John’s house in the suburbs it was with a bottle of red-wine clutched foreignly in one hand and Peter’s self conscious smile on his face. 

To Sherlock's great dismay it was Mary that opened to door with a cheery smile and ushered him inside, grabbing his coat and thanking him for the wine. 

“John’s just this way in the kitchen. He's the real cook out of the two of us.” Mary explained leading him further into the house. 

The kitchen itself was cheerfully decorated in yellows and oranges, home-y but far from overtly feminine. However it paled in comparison to John Watson who was currently washing his hands with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and looking just as he had three years ago in 221B when he'd last cooked for Sherlock. It made Sherlock's insides feel as if they were suddenly radioactive filling up with a pleasant warmth that spread all the way through to his fingers and toes.

“Hello, John.”

:::

Mary watched as John’s focus narrowed down to the tall, willowy man that stood in their kitchen. With two words John was completely ensnared and it was clear as day to Mary she held no competition. The smile John gave him was blazing, burning bright with happiness in a way she had only seen in pictures of him. It was lovely and wonderful but also the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. 

Mary knew, had seen, had first hand experience with the fact, that some people fit each other better than others. That occasionally two people would meet and snap together so fast and snuggly that they remained together permanently in whatever capacity worked best for them. Whether it was friends or partners, Mary had witnessed it enough time to know that regardless it would be the closest and most valuable relationship the two people would ever posses. 

Mary was happy for John, she really was. To find that person was by no means a small feat and John could use a little brilliance in his life. Mary was also relieved. Relieved that it wasn't a woman. Relieved that John was firm and comfortable in his heterosexuality regardless of her shallow teasing. Mary was also blindingly, overwhelming jealous of the man that waltzed into their apartment and, like it was the easiest task in the world, fully and completely ensnared her soon-to-be fiancé. 

Peter cocked a hip out against the counter, resting his weight on it as he talked and laughed with John. She watched John as he finished up the roast, cutting up the chicken and draining the juices, all the while keeping his eyes on Peter as much as possible. Peter’s cheeks were flushed as though he’d been out in the sun all day, a small smile resting on his lips that, despite its size, brimmed up into his eyes. The two of them kept up easy conversation about some girl from Peter’s restaurant who apparently couldn't hold a tray for more than thirty seconds.

The stories had John giggling which gave Peter such an air of contentment and self-satisfaction that it almost made Mary want to smile at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The man clearly fancied John and stood bold as brass in their kitchen with the man’s soon-to-be fiancé in the room looking like an infatuated child. It was almost endearing. 

Nevertheless the she dreaded having to breach the subject with John who was so ridiculously oblivious to these things (when they were coming from men) he would no doubt claim that Mary was reading too far into the situation. 

:::

John and Peter walked out into the dining room, lowering their plates onto the table. John felt drunk. Not in an encumbered uncomfortable way but as if he was high on life with a nice buzz. If the flush on Peter’s cheeks was anything to go by, he felt mostly the same way.  

John may not be attracted to men, with one notable exception, but even he could recognize dazzling beauty and Peter was dazzling. John had noticed even Mary’s eyes straying to him while they had been finishing up cooking. 

“Thank you for having me over, John. I must admit that I don't get out very often so it means a lot that you would invite me over for dinner. Plus, I can tell your cooking, by smell alone, is far superior to anything I would have thrown together. 

John laughed. “I don't believe for a moment that a young man like you doesn't have groups of people clambering for a night out with him. It's me who should be thanking you. What you want with having dinner with an old, broken-down soldier is beyond me.”

John looked up in surprise when Peter grabbed his arm firmly and found himself trapped in the man’s intense gaze. “Don't call yourself broken, John. It's inaccurate and frankly insulting that you would think yourself less than the rest of the population of idiots that inhabit Earth.” 

:::

Sherlock froze, his hands still resting on John’s shoulder after the outburst. John’s eyes were wide, searching his face, brow furrowed slightly. Well, Sherlock may have shown his hand a bit there. 

Sherlock plastered on Peter’s self-deprecating smile and broke eye-contact in an effort to shatter the moment. “I’m sorry, that was probably uncalled for. You just -- you shouldn’t think so lowly of yourself.” 

“No it’s… it’s fine. It’s all fine.” John responded, turning away to busy himself with setting the table and allowing Sherlock to indulge in a small smile in remembrance of the last time John had said that to him. “It just sounded a lot like something a friend of mine would have said. It was nice to hear. Thank you.” He said giving Sherlock a brief, slightly pained smile.

“This wouldn’t happen to be this Sherlock again would it?”

“Ah, well, yes.” John mumbled clearing his throat as though self-conscious. Interesting. Why was he self-conscious? Who would have made John feel poorly about talking about him? Ah, Mary, of course. She became jealous and as a result made him feel weak and obsessive for his grief. He really needed to get rid of this woman. 

“He sounds like quite an intelligent man.” Sherlock said kindly. The self-praising nature of the statement wasn’t lost on him but it was high time to destigmatize this topic for John. 

John chuckled, “Oh you have no idea. The man was a force to behold.” 

“He’s not boring you with tales of Sherlock, famous consulting detective, is he Peter?” Mary asked from the doorway to the kitchen making the two of them jump. 

“No, not at all,” Sherlock replied, sliding into the seat next to Johns. “I find it quite interesting. I’d love to hear about some of your cases.” 

Sherlock saw out of the corner of his eye when Mary rolled her eyes as John began enthusiastically telling the story of their case of the Aluminium Crutch. He was beginning to dislike that woman more and more.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t until the following month that Sherlock saw John in person again. Despite this, during that time he and John exchanged, on average, 51.2 texts per day. At the same time, Sherlock solved three case for the yard via anonymous tips. All in all, he felt the month was largely a success. The only damper was his inability to think of a way to reveal himself to John.

Sherlock had carefully planned out their next meeting. He pulled on a nice pair of jeans, a button down, and a sweater-vest. He ensured his wig was artfully tousled and his prosthetics secure and seamlessly blended into his actual skin.

Although turning out to be surprisingly effective, his disguise was beginning to have ramifications. His accent, which he had worked so diligently on destroying was seeping into his normal, everyday speech with a vengeance. He’d even had a woman in the shops switch to French after hearing him speak only a couple of words in English. It was thoroughly unacceptable.

Sherlock had hacked into the CCTV cameras and had been observing John’s movements during his down time, of which he had ample at the moment. Every Thursday night John would go to a bar called Queen Bee’s after work. It was Sherlock’s intention to “accidentally” run into him there.

Despite all his careful planning however, there was one thing that Sherlock hadn’t accounted for and that was John Watson’s seemingly endless capacity to be surprising.

When Sherlock arrived, he was shocked to see that all the chairs and tables on the inside had been pushed up against on wall revealing a well-polished hard-wood floor upon which at least twenty couples of all ages and genders were swing dancing.

Sherlock stood for a moment, blindsided by the turn of events, before shuffling off to one side in an attempt to regain his footing. He sent a quiet thank you to his dance instructor who, despite his mother’s protests, ensured he had a broad and thorough education of all kinds of dances, not just the more posh variations. Regardless, this would require a fair bit more maneuvering than Sherlock had originally suspected.

He made his way over to toward the bar where they had left some of the tables and chairs out as a spot to rest and rehydrate and grabbed a seat in the corner.

Within five minutes, Sherlock had found John out on the dance floor with a woman. Early thirties, steady boyfriend with whom she was happily committed, had just met John before their current dance.

John was, well, John was good. He was steady as a rock, twirling the woman around him and guiding her easily through the fast paced song. Really it made sense that John would find an affinity for swing dancing. The lead’s job was all about focusing and directing, making the follow look good. Altogether not dissimilar to what he had done for Sherlock.

Sherlock waited off to the side, deliberately staying out of John’s sight, never one to pass up a dramatic entrance. He stayed put until John had begged a break in order to catch his breath and settled into one of the chairs along the wall. Sherlock gave him two songs before walking over.

 

:::

 

“Do you want to dance?” John startled and then began to chuckle at the familiar voice.

“Are you following me?” John asked, turning toward Peter who stood next to his chair as if he’d been attending Swing Night his whole life, his trademark small, endearing smile on his face.

“Simply lucky. What do you say?”

“To what?”

“Dancing.”

“Oh! I thought you were joking. I only know how to lead.”

“Perfect!” Peter said holding out his hand to help John up. “I prefer to follow”

“I- oh, um, alright.” John took his hand and Peter pulled him up and onto the dance floor.

 

:::

 

Although it had been years since he had last danced swing, Sherlock’s body remembered soon enough. He had forgotten how much he loved this style of dance. The freedom and unpredictability kept him, literally, on his toes waiting for John’s next subtle cue.

Sherlock felt like he was flying, the world whirling around him and filling his blood with energy. And at the center of it all was John Watson. Wonderful, surprising John Watson with his ear-to-ear grin and breathless laughter. It was always John Watson.

 

:::

 

Sherlock felt transcendent as he collapsed against the wall in the foyer alone but with the memories of John’s hands on his body pressed into his skin. The touches had been innocent and admittedly necessary while dancing, however those facts did not stop Sherlock’s heart from tapping out a funny rhythm when he thought of them. Sherlock grimaced at the giddy, happy feeling that seemed to take up residence in his stomach whenever he even thought of John. This was becoming progressively more and more complicated and for one of the first times in his life, its intricacy terrified Sherlock instead of thrilling him.

Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket launching him from his thoughts.

 

thank you for tonight. that was fun - JW

 

Sherlock grinned before writing back; 

We should do it again sometime

 

Well in for a penny in for a pound, Sherlock thought with a twinge of nerves after he sent the text. Perhaps it was a bit forward but he did want John back at 221B. That’s what this whole thing was about, his nerves, his excitement, his jealousy. He had been deprived of his John for far too long and it was time to get him back. Sherlock pocketed his phone and trudged this way up the stairs peeling off his prosthetics as he went. The fresh air on his hot, stifled skin was a such a relief he promised himself to never go dancing in them again. He quickly devested himself of the rest of his disguise before jumping into the shower.

When he checked his phone before climbing into bed he had two messages, one from John and the other from Mycroft.

dinner next friday my treat - JW

Careful, brother-mine - MH


	5. Chapter 5

“Âllo?”

“...Sherlock?” Mycroft’s confusion almost made his phone call redeeming. Sherlock should answer in French more often.

“Oui.”

“Pourquoi Francais?”

“Parceque je suis avec John. Alors, qu’est que vous voulez?” 

“I refuse to play along with this little charade of yours, Sherlock. Why do I have to want something in order to call my brother.” 

“Parceque vous etes tres ennuyeux”

“I simply want to warn you against this route. You will hurt him, Sherlock.”

“No, je suis lui donner son meilleur ami deja. Salut, mon frere.” Sherlock hung up his phone and turned to John who sat across the table oblivious to the contents of their conversation. “Sorry about that, my brother.” Sherlock explained.  

“Not to worry. How’s your pasta?” John asked turning back to his own meal. 

 

:::

 

“John, I know you don’t think you’re leading him on but you are.”

“Mary, for godsake, we are friends!”

“Yes, I can see that, John, but I can also see that that man looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky and watches you in a way that is definitely not platonic. Frankly, if I were the jealous type, I’d be furious but I trust you and I know you’re not interested but he doesn’t and it’s not fair to him!” 

John took a deep, steadying breath, head hanging low and hands framing the sink in their ensuite bathroom. Mary’s accusation rankled. The fact that she felt that she needed to affirm that she trusted him threatened to send him into a tailspin of thoughtless, angry words. 

Despite all of his outward bluff the conversation and implications scared him. What scared him is was the fact that it had turned into a sensitive topic for him, his strange but wonderful and close friendship with Peter. It felt delicate, like talking about it would ruin it or stunt it and all he knew was that he didn’t want to stop its natural progression. He’d made that mistake with Sherlock and he wasn’t planning on making the mistake again. 

 

:::

 

The night was brisk and damp, the lamps painting watery pools of light on the sidewalk of the park. John and Peter walked aimlessly along the paths relaxed in each other’s company. The night was cold and they naturally gravitated towards the other’s warmth. As a result, they walked close, arms brushing and sending a pleasant, light tingle through John’s body at the contact. 

John had rarely felt so content. It was akin to the nights after cases with Sherlock where they would retire home with takeaway and some crappy movie. They’d spend the night in warmed by each other’s company, good food, and scotch or occasionally wine. The warmth would sit in John’s belly reflecting the low lighting and goofy smiles shared across the small space between two chairs. 

While he missed the adventure and danger that eternally followed Sherlock, he appreciated Peter’s steadiness and domesticity which Sherlock had only shown on rare occasions. While he still ached for Sherlock, Peter’s soft, accented voice relaxed John and the intelligent and thoughtful conversation was much welcomed. While it did not erase the wound that Sherlock had left behind, Peter’s company helped numb the hole that had lived in John’s chest for three long years doing its best to soothe some of the ache. 

When they eventually happened upon a footbridge running over what could only generously be called a stream, John pulled to a halt in the center, leaning against the railing. Peter stood next to him the two of them looking out at the London landscape bathed in the false calm of night. 

“It’s beautiful.” Peter said.

John looked up at him, humour twisting in his gut, thoughts filled full of man so similar to the one standing next to him. “It’s a battlefield.” 

 

:::

  
John returned the ring on his lunch break, handing over the small package, still wrapped and unopened just like the day he bought it. The jeweler had given him a sympathetic look. John didn’t have the patience to try to explain how he was happier now than he’d been in three long years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's three years of French so if anyone for real speaks French let me know if I've you know not butchered that language. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Oh, how Sherlock had missed this. 

The original plan that day had been to visit the London Zoo, have a proper outing and everything. However, John’s work had run him late and London was London which meant that it had decided to drown the city once more and so Sherlock had invited John over to his flat. 

He’d had to tidy up, throw his current experiments out of the kitchen and into his room and cleaning the fridge had necessitated the binning of two wonderful pairs chicken and goose eyes but it was a more than fair trade as far as Sherlock was concerned. 

When the two of them were at Baker Street they had spent many an evening curled up in their respective chairs watching a movie or just whatever happened to be on TV that night. And tonight they did much the same thing. Sherlock ordered takeaway from a new little restaurant that he’d discovered and they’d both settled down into to the quiet evening in like pulling on a well-worn sweatshirt. 

There were times when Sherlock was worried that the ease and habitual nature of their friendship would be his giveaway. Would tip John off to the fact that there was actually no Peter simply Sherlock in disguise. Yet, John seemed to remain oblivious. It was amazing what one could get away with when one was dead. 

John had even started exhibiting many of the same signs of attraction and affection that he’d shown before Sherlock had jumped. Their unnecessary physical contact had gone up by at least 50% and much like before, Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to put a stop to it. While be for his inaction was a product simply of indifference now the reason had transformed into something completely selfish. Despite his best efforts to remain unaffected by John’s numerous charms, Sherlock had fallen prey and relished the flash of warmth through his body at each brush of fingers and bumped shoulder. 

Now as they sat curled up on opposite sides of the couch both more interested in their own thoughts than whatever movie John had decided to rent, Sherlock was reminded just how much he had missed John’s easy and quiet companionship. John was just as happy to spend the night conversing and dominating conversation as he was happy to spend the night in companionable silence. It was a blessing Sherlock had not truly appreciated before he was gone and had ached like a wound in his side while he was away.


	7. Chapter 7

“Peter was saying the other day-”

“My god, John!” Mary interrupted throwing her hands up in the air. “I don't care what Peter thinks, or does, or says, or anything else about him that you seem determined to regale me with.”

There was a tense silence over their breakfast table as John composed himself. 

“Well I'm sorry, Mary he is my friend, you know.” John responded his voice tight with anger. 

“Well I hate to tell you this, John, but it sure doesn't feel like it. He's all you ever talk about anymore. For god's sake, you may as well be dating!” 

The silence this time was less tense, instead it was filled Mary’s dawning resignation. 

“I’ll never be able to compete, will I?”

“Mary, what are you talking about? Of course you will-”

“Don’t lie to me, John.” She snapped before taking a shuddering breath. She shook her head sadly at the table. “You were going to propose to me before he wandered into our life. You were going to propose to me. You’re terrible at keeping secrets, John. I knew the day you brought the ring home but now… You don’t even have the ring anymore.” John was silent across the table which was all the answer Mary needed. “I can’t compete with him, John, and I won’t… I’m sure once you two figure everything out you’ll be very happy with each other. You two really are made for each other.” 

She stood up from the table and walked to their room to begin packing up her things. John didn’t say anything to stop her.

:::

 

Sherlock rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and grimaced at the pounding on his door. Glancing at the clock he confirmed what his brain had already deduced for him and that was that it was far too early for guests. 

Before Sherlock had left, John had always berated him for being rash. Sherlock admittedly acted without thinking something through completely, going for dramatic effect over safety. It had been fine back at Baker St. but his years away had taught him some self preservation something which he was extremely grateful for that morning.

His instinct, upon arriving at the door was to throw it open, startling the person on the other side and leaving them off kilter and vulnerable to a verbal assault which Sherlock thought more than proper punishment for making such a racket at the early hour. This morning however due to some newly learned survival instincts or more accurately some newly acquired paranoia Sherlock took a look through the eyehole and as a result saved himself although mainly John a particularly nasty and confusing shock. 

He took a quick look at John as best he could getting a good picture of what had happened that morning between Mary and him. 

“John!” He called through the door, improvising on the spot. He needed enough time to apply his prosthetics, makeup, and wig. “I’m just about to jump in the shower. I’m actually, uh,” Sherlock wracked his brains for a reason why he couldn’t open the door. “Naked! I’m naked right now so give me thirty seconds and then feel free to come in, the doors open. I shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes!” 

“I….um, alright.” John called back. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock walked out of his room and turned on the kettle before looking over at John who was sitting staring at his hand which he’d clasped together between his knees. 

“What can I do for you, John. I have to say it’s quite early.”

John took a deep breath, readying himself to tell him something Sherlock already knew, not that John knew that. 

“Mary and I broke up.” 

Sherlock had never been more proud of his acting skills than when he played sympathetic friend for the following hour all the while filled with nothing short of elation.


	8. Chapter 8

“You said you enjoyed the violin didn’t you?”

John looked up from the book he’d been reading at the non sequitur. He and Peter had met that day at Speedy’s and had ended up quietly working next to each other just enjoying the other’s presence by their side. 

“Yes, I do. Although, in all fairness I was more than partial to the person who was playing so that might have affected my opinion a bit.”

Peter hummed in acknowledgement and turned back to his emails. Just as John was about to turn back to his own book Peter spoke up once more. 

“You see I ask because, well brother got me tickets for the Orchestra got in town this week and I have an extra and was hoping you’d maybe go with me? I mean I know it’s not really everyone’s kind of thing but I thought it would be kind of fun and we could go out to dinner afterward. My brother actually reserved a place at this restaurant downtown. It’s a black-tie kind of place and it’s supposed to be really good. I know it’s kind of formal but-”

“Woah, Peter, breathe.” John interrupted completely confused by Peter’s nervous babbling. God knows they’d got together all the time and Peter had never had any trouble asking him before. Mind you, concerts were a fair bit fancier that anything they had done so far and on dinner it give off a bit of date vibe but practically everything they’d done in the past could have qualified as something similar. It’s what had bothered Mary so much in the end but now John wasn’t dating anyone… which meant he was available. Available for things like dates. Actual, romantic dates.

Was Peter asking him on a date?

He looked over at Peter who took a deep breath and kept his eye fixed resolutely on his coffee and uncharacteristically fidgeted in his seat. John didn’t think he was imagining the tips of Peter’s ears going pink. 

John let out a whoosh of air and smiled, “That sounds wonderful, Peter.”

Peter’s grin was worth the siege of nervousness John felt in anticipation of the day.

 

:::

 

John had changed his shirt three times before he got irritated at himself and settled on the blue jumper Sherlock always seemed to hate less than his others with a white dress shirt underneath and a pair of dress pants. 

He didn’t know why he was so nervous, it wasn’t as though he and Peter had ever had any trouble with conversation. However the whole possibility of it being a date and Peter’s nervousness while asking gave John a whole different perspective on the coming night together. And John would be a liar if he said it didn’t set his nerves into a giddy dance. 

 

:::

 

Sherlock couldn’t have told anyone more than three details from the concert by the time it was nearly over. He’d planned this night carefully down to the smallest details. He made sure to play up Peter’s nervousness when he was asking John to the night out to ensure he would realized that Peter didn’t want this to be just one of their normal nights out. 

And Sherlock actually didn’t want it to be. He wanted this night to be special, to finally push them over the line they’d been balancing on for years. It would be up to John though. He’d set John up to make the move; now Sherlock just had wait and see if John would get over himself and let himself be actively interested in men.

 

:::

 

John couldn’t have told you one thing about the concert even if he tried. Peter kept glancing over at him out of the corner of his eye when he thought John wasn’t paying attention and John couldn’t help from getting a little warm just from the tension in the air. Occasionally their feet or arms would brush and he didn’t know about Peter but it definitely wasn’t on accident when he was the culprit. 

For the first time though, John didn’t know what the end game was. Something romantic obviously but John didn’t know what or even how to get there. It shouldn’t have been any different with a man but John was decidedly off-kilter. 

Peter hadn’t seemed to mind leading this far, besides John suspected he had a bit more experience in this department, so John would wait and follow his lead. 

 

:::

 

John wasn’t doing anything, well unless driving Sherlock up the wall with his light touches and lingering looks counted as something.

 

:::

 

John would have thought he had completely misread the situation and maybe gone so far as to think he’d imagined Peter’s signs of interest if as soon as they sat down in the little half-circle booth at the restaurant Peter hadn’t cozied right up to him. They sat so close their thighs pressed against each other and their elbows knocked. And still Peter never made a move even to do something as small as hold his hand. Maybe he just wanted to drive John insane.

 

:::

 

Sherlock made sure to sit well within John’s personal space when they slid into the booth thinking it would make it easier for John to do something, anything, to move them out of this romantic purgatory. Little did he know John would just sit there and do nothing at all. Maybe he wasn’t going to own up to his attraction afterall.

 

:::

 

Maybe Peter wasn’t into him afterall. Maybe it was all in John’s head and he’d just been misinterpreting everything all night. 

 

:::

 

By the time John had walked him home all the tension, all the potential, had drained away from the night completely and Sherlock couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He felt like he’d had the rug pulled out from under him. Right when he was getting somewhere, when the whole night was building in potential something unstoppered the bottle and let it all trickle away.

“Well, um, thanks for coming with me tonight.” Sherlock said stiltedly when they reached the outside of the flat.

“Um, yeah. Sure. It was my… pleasure.” 

There was a gaping pause where they simply looked at each other. For a moment, Sherlock thought John was about to redeem the night when he saw John’s gaze flick down to his lips. However, he cleared his throat looking to the side but not before Sherlock thought he saw a flash of the same confusion he was feeling reflected back at him from John’s face. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you soon.” John mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you.”

“Alright, goodnight.” He said walking away with a little wave.

“Goodnight, John.”

Sherlock let himself into his flat on autopilot, shedding his coat before collapsing into the nearest chair.

“What was that?” He questioned the empty flat.

 

:::

  
“What the bloody hell was that about?” John mumbled to himself turning back to see the light turn on in Peter’s flat before continuing his walk home.


	9. Chapter 9

Sent from: John - To: Peter  3:02 PM

i’m coming over in thirty minutes. i need to talk to you.

 

:::

 

“So, John,” Sherlock began once it was clear that John wasn’t going to start the conversation despite he being the one crashing in practically unannounced. “What can I do for you?”

John wrung his hands and cleared his throat, his nervous tics. “I don’t quite know where to start. I um… I keep think about the other night with concert. I can’t get it out of my head, Peter. I just don’t understand. I thought that you- I thought maybe. Well but I guess I was wrong but I guess the problem is that I wish I wasn’t wrong. I wish…” John let out a humorless laugh. “You know, you remind me a lot of Sherlock. This,” he said gesturing between them, “reminds me a lot of what we had. Wonderful and exciting but just a mess and I guess I don’t want to make the same mistake. You see, Sherlock and I… well we, er... I, at least, I lov-”

Sherlock leapt out of his seat cutting off John before he could truly destroy the last remnant of John’s trust in him. “John, you really can’t be telling his to me.” 

Sherlock’s body and mind were in an uproar. John had loved him. John had loved him before he jumped and it is very likely that Sherlock had ruined the one opportunity he’d had with him when he’d jumped. 

And he hadn’t even known. 

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair viciously, momentarily forgetting that he was wearing a wig before gentling his gesture so as not to unsettle it and taking up pacing frantically instead.

“No, Peter, this is important. Not just because of him but because of us because Peter, I think I-”

“John!” Sherlock yelled, anything to curb the tide of words flowing from John’s mouth that were simultaneously filling Sherlock to the brim with overwhelming happiness as well as anxiety and dread. “John, please. Don’t.” Sherlock said softly, making eye contact with him for the first time during the entirety of their conversation.

John visibly flinched curling in on himself, pain flooding his face. “I thought- oh, I, um…” And Sherlock instantly realized how his words had sounded.

He rushed over to John kneeling between his legs and grabbing his hands, throwing personal space out the window in his desperation to get John to understand. “No, no, John you misunderstand me. That’s not what I meant at all, far from it. But you cannot do this now. You don’t know everything. My god, John if you knew-” 

“What don’t I know, Peter.” John said softly, eyes no longer pained but filled with hope and kindness. It made Sherlock ache to look at them. He was not deserving of these kinds of emotions, not from John. John who was achingly honest and kind and true while Sherlock did nothing but lie and manipulate people in the worst ways.

He lowered his eyes, no longer able to form words let alone keep eye contact and shook his head. But then there was a hand on the side of his face, warm and wonderfully calloused, and a thumb under his chin guiding him to raise his head to meet John’s eye. He closed his eyes, unable to see the trust in John’s face that he had so utterly betrayed which turned out to be the largest mistake of them all. For not a moment later, lips were pressing against his, hesitantly but with restrained passion. They pressed once then again, fitting themselves between his own and pulling a small noise from his body at the wonderful, ecstatic, perfect, sensual, overwhelming way they felt against his.

It was the unexpected noise he’d made that forced his brain back online. He wrenched himself away from John, stumbling up into standing and taking a couple shaky steps back. John sat in the chair, frozen, confusion and hurt written across every line of his body. 

“Peter… I don’t understand.”

Sherlock closed his eyes against the feeling of tears prickling in the corner. He had wanted to make this easy on John. He had wanted to slip into his life gradually, so by the time he revealed himself it wasn’t a shock, more of a confirmation. How he had managed to stray so far was beyond him. He’d been swept up, so giddy to be with John again he’d forgotten and lied and now he was paying the price. No, even worse, he corrected himself, John was the one about to pay the price. This was so much worse than if he had just decided to surprise John at the restaurant, pop out of a cake, or just turn up at his flat. No, this was not something he was not going to recover from and it was his own selfish fault. 

“John… this was, well, this was so far from my intention. I never thought that… well, and I thought that if I did this slowly that maybe it would be less painful. That the transition would be easier for the two of us like this and we’d be able to go back to the way that we were. But I hadn’t realised how much I missed you, John; how much I craved your company and I got carried away. And then realising that I was- that I’m in… That I have, have feelings for you and things got so irretrievably messy and John I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I promise this was not my intention. I wanted to make it less painful and now I’ve gone a bollocksed it up so badly and I’m so so sorry, John.” 

“Peter, please. I don’t know what’s going on.” John said warily, confused and scared and on the edge of his seat. Sherlock braced himself for the plunge, the fall that would undoubtedly separate them forever. 

“See that’s the problem.” Sherlock furiously wiped his cheeks clear, unaware he’d been crying until his eyes had gotten blurry. “John, Peter doesn’t exist. He’s not real. He doesn’t work at a restaurant or shop at Tescos or go to Queen Bees or live across the street from 221 or anything. He’s not real.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“John,” Sherlock said, voice breaking in a sick version of a laugh that was more sob than anything else. “It’s me. I’m back. I tried to break it to you gently but it went too far.” Sherlock pulled at the prosthetic on his chin and the other on his cheek, ripping them off. It was hard with his hands shaking and his eyes blurring and John looking like the world was crumbling around him. He took of the latex piece on his other cheek and then the bit on his nose. He rubbed away the freckles he had drawn under his eyes, the process made easier by the wetness on his face, until all he had left was the wig. 

Sherlock could see that John knew at this point, had recognized, tears ran freely down his face his hand pressed firmly over his mouth as though forcibly holding back any sounds he might make. 

Sherlock removed the pins from his hair, one by one until he could finally rid himself of the wig. He took it off and set it carefully down on the coffee table and reached up to remove the wig cap. When he put that down as well he turned slowly back to John who’d not moved. His frame was filled with tension, body moving only when a sob could not be held back anymore. 

Sherlock knelt down between his legs once more. 

“John. John. I’m… I’m so sorry. They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and it was the only thing I could do. I was captured in Syria. I should have been back years ago. I should have been in contact but it took them too long to find me and then I came back and you were so hurt, so pained I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know and I thought that maybe if I did it gradually it would be easier but John.” Sherlock looked up and John who was staring at him, his body still, his face red.

“John,” Sherlock said alarmed, reaching out to try to pry his hand away from his mouth. “John, John breathe for me. Deep breath. John, you need to breathe.” It took a couple of second for the words to reach him but when they did he inhaled a huge, stuttering, painful gasp followed immediately by the most heart-wrenching sob Sherlock had ever heard. 

Without thinking he pulled John out of the seat and into his arms on the floor, holding him close, wanting to soothe to alleviate the pain that had completely incapacitated the man he loved. Once the first sobb was released the dam broke and John clung to him, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck and shaking with the force of his body’s reaction.

Sherlock held him through it all the while murmuring comforting nonsense in his ear, rubbing his back, pressing kisses to whatever part of him he could reach, apologizing over and over again, and doing his own fair share of crying. 

Sherlock’s legs were asleep by the time they’d both calmed down enough to the point where they could hold a conversation without succumbing to another panic attack or tears. 

John pulled back, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s, his eyes closed and brow furrowed. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He let out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Sherlock,” His face twisted in a weird and painful combination of happiness, anger, and intense sorrow before he was able to compose himself once more. “Sherlock. Sherlock, I love you. But Sherlock,” He leaned back against the foot of the chair effectively removing himself from Sherlock’s embrace. “I can’t be around you right now. I need to recover. I need space. I didn’t have anyone right now except for Peter and now you… and I love you desperately but I need space, just for now.” John rose shakily to his feet quickly falling into soldier mode and panic shot through Sherlock. “Sherlock, I want to be very clear. You are not to panic. I am not cutting you out of my life, although I have more than every right to leave you here and never see you again. I just need space. I will text you in a month and we will arrange a time and place to meet and we will talk about what happened while you were gone, this whole mess with Peter, and our relationship and what we mean to each other but for now I cannot handle to be around you right now without doing some things I’m sure I would regret at a later time so I am removing myself from the situation.” John paused looking down at him, still sitting on the floor feeling numb yet extremely anxious. “Okay?”

Sherlock nodded but John shook his head, “I want a verbal confirmation.”

“Okay, John.”

“Am I going to contact you again?”

“Yes.”

“And when will I contact you?”

“In a month from today, July 27.”

“Good.” John turned away. He pulled open the door to the flat before he turned around once more. “Sherlock, trust me, okay? I love you. If you- if you’re about to do anything stupid please think of me and if that doesn’t work you’re allowed to text me. Okay?”

“Okay, John”

“I love you.”

Sherlock just nodded numbly at the ground and eventually John shut the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Sent from: Sherlock - To: John  1:52 AM

I want to do something stupid.

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  1:53 AM

sherlock i love you. i am not leaving you. you are not alone. be strong for me.

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  1:54 AM

sherlock?

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  1:55 AM

sherlock answer me please

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  1:57 AM

please i love you

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  1:57 AM

i’m coming over there

 

Sent from: Sherlock - To: John  1:58 AM

Don’t. I flushed it down the toilet.

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  1:58 AM

good. go to bed and get some sleep. ill see you in a week and a half

 

Sent from: Sherlock - To: John  1:59 AM

Okay. 

 

:::

 

Sent from: John - To: Sherlock  11:20 AM

speedy’s on wednesday? 10am

 

Sent from: Sherlock - To: John  11:21 AM

Okay.

 

:::

 

The breakfast was hard, not that John had expected anything else. Sherlock had looked horrible but he’d had pushed up his sleeves to bare his forearms which were clear of any track marks. John knew he’d done this on purpose for his benefit but it didn’t stop him from being any less grateful. 

They’d had coffee and talked. They’d walked in the park and talked. And they’d had dinner and talked. By the end they were both exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day but both we feeling leagues better than they had at the beginning of the morning. 

It was a beginning.

 

:::

 

“John?” Sherlock asked. 

John looked up from the table in the living room of 221B. They’d moved back in together about two months after their talk. It was wonderful. Sherlock had revealed himself to their friends and he was back solving cases at the yard with John by his side. John and he spent their nights chasing criminals and their days in each other’s company. It was almost everything Sherlock could wish for except there was one thing missing and that was, well, their transition beyond friendship. And Sherlock, who’d never possessed much patience to begin with, was fast running out of it.

He wanted nothing more than to end the day in John’s bed. The two of them intertwined sharing lazy kisses or even more. He wanted casual touches, good morning kisses, cuddling on the sofa, even little pet names. 

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Remember what you texted me on the danger night and what you said before you left the day I came back?”

“I- er, yes.” John’s face had started to turn red. Sherlock nodded trying to earn himself a little extra time.

“Well it’s just that, well, I’d hoped that when we had talked and figured everything out that maybe we could- well that we would…” He looked up, his heart sinking at the black look on John’s face. “Oh, forget it! I don’t know why I thought that you would actually want someone like me. Stupid!”

He launched up from his seat and grabbed his coat. He had to get out of here before he did something really stupid. Crying seemed to be on the top of his bodies wants at the moment and he wasn’t about to let John see that. He paused, facing the door and took a deep breath to steady his voice before addressing John again. 

“Just… would you delete this conversation?”

Suddenly there were arms around his waist and a face pressed into the center of his back.

“Sherlock Holmes, if you think I’m for a moment going to delete this conversation you are a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“John?” Sherlock choked out. John felt so steady and warm against his back. It was so lovely it was nearly painful.

“Sherlock I wasn’t sure if you were actually interested and then you never said anything so I didn’t say anything. You were always so against relationships, I just assumed you’d changed your mind.”

Sherlock turned around slowly in John’s arms. “But you were always so emphatic about how you weren’t interested in men I wasn’t sure if you wanted…”

John raised his hands to cup Sherlock’s face. 

“Sherlock, I want you. Body and soul. There has never been a time when that hasn’t been true. I love you, desperately.” 

“I love you too, John. The day you found out you said it and I didn’t say it back. I’m sorry, John. I wanted to. I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” John soothed encouraging Sherlock to meet his eye with a finger under his chin. “It’s fine.” John’s mouth quirked up into a small teasing smile. “It’s all fine.” 

Sherlock couldn’t stop a choked giggle from escaping his mouth and crashed his lips against John’s. 


	11. Chapter 11

John gave Sherlock a squeeze around the waist. “You know, I just can’t take my eyes off of you when you manage solve cases like that.”

Three months later, they were lying in bed where they tended to end up directly following the end of a particularly thrilling case. 

“That woman completely believed you were he sister’s son.” John continued. “Not that I of all people should be surprised by your acting skills. You did manage to fool me for quite a while last year.”

Sherlock rolled into his arms so that he was facing John, capturing him in a long searing kiss that was as much an apology as it was a promise. 

Eventually, he pulled away and grinned at John. “I just wanted to prove to you what a wonderful actor I was. Really, nearly six months is an impressive amount of time. I should win an award.

John smiled softly at him. Reaching out and tucking a loose curl back into place, still marvelling at the fact that he was allowed to touch, to caress. “I think all you managed to prove is that I’ll love you no matter what, no matter where, no matter who you’re pretending to be. You can’t get rid of me, Sherlock Holmes. I just hope you’re amiable to the fact.”

“More the amiable, my dear Watson.” He murmured, shuffling closer for another kiss. “Thrilled.”


End file.
